


Something Worse

by astralZenith



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Tags May Change, ressurection au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralZenith/pseuds/astralZenith
Summary: Many of Dominaria's past heroes (and a few of it's villians) are alive again, but no one quite sure why. Hopefully they can figure it out.
Relationships: Ashnod/Tawnos (Magic: The Gathering), Mishra/Yawgmoth, Ratepe/Xantcha (Magic: The Gathering)
Comments: 1





	Something Worse

**Author's Note:**

> Big thing I've wanted to write for awhile. Might be terribly self-indulgent, but might also be a lot of fun. Who knows?

It was a strange thing for the Academy to see Urza alive and well again, but it wasn't exactly a surprise.   
  


It was something that had always loomed over the academy, much like the large statue of the man himself that watched over them, large and useless. An unspoken and daunting question, the way they always put 'assumed' dead on any texts pertaining to his end. They remembered Urza, and knew how much it would take to really keep the man down. He'd come back from more unlikely situations than this.  
  


And now, here he was. Alive, confused, eyes twinkling with the powerstones that _should_ have been destroyed along with the rest of the legacy weapon, spark still intact. Their first task was to check on Karn, who had inherited Urza's original spark. When they found him whole and sound, next came the trouble to figuring out just what the hell had happened.   
  


Urza himself offered little by way of explanation. Here, some hundred years or so after his death, he didn't remember a thing beyond having the stones ripped out of his eyes and used to power the Weatherlight and kill Yawgmoth once and for all. The next thing he knew, he'd woken up just outside Tolaria West, disoriented and wondering just how he'd come to be reattached to the rest of his body.   
  


They welcomed the former headmaster, of course, and even if that position was no longer his, they still treated him as such. He was Urza, the legend, back from the dead and seemingly no worse for wear. Their was an air of sadness around the planeswalker, but those that remembered him from before said that was normal, around this time. He'd been brought back right at the new year, having settled in and gotten his wits about him just in time to watch the year end.   
  


New Year's Eve. Mishra's birthday.   
  


Urza never handled it well.   
  


Before, he'd spend long hours working himself to death trying to forget about the passage of time and what day it might be. If he though on it too long, the nightmares would come back, and it would feel like his brother's vengeful ghost was trying to drag him down with it. Now, he had no work to do, no nightmares. Phyrexia was defeated, banished forever. His brother was avenged, and could rest easy. Urza hoped that was the case. Still, he mourned softly within the confines of his new quarters. It didn't seem fair that he had gotten so many second chances at life, while Mishra had never gotten even one. No matter how hard he begged the universe, it had seen fit to keep his brother dead forever.   
  


In a way he envied Mishra for that chance to rest. Even now, he found a way to be jealous of his little brother. 

\---

Yawgmoth woke submerged in murky, muddy water, and rose from it choking and sputtering and letting loose curses in every language he could remember.  
  


It took him a few bewildered moments to remember just where he was and what had happened, and the memories that came flooding back were not delightful ones. He'd been foolish enough to leave the safety of Phyrexia to claim Dominaria as his own, once and for all, and had paid the ultimate price for it. Looking down, he found himself equipped with dirty, stubby human hands, and it was almost too much. His godhood was gone, his lungs had to breathe and his heart had to beat and his eyes had to blink and it was not something he was used to anymore and it _hurt.  
  
_

Quietly he mourned for all he'd lost. His perfect plane, without his life keeping it going, would collapse and be no more. His perfect, beautiful Phyrexians would have lose the will to continue fighting without his fatherly presence there to reassure them. Oh, it was too much to bear.  
  


Standing, forcing his way through the mud, he realized he'd woken exactly where he'd fell. Urborg. It was wonderful to know that the bounteous forests had paid dearly for the price of killing a god, as it had all become one terrible, cursed looking swamp under the influence of his corpse.  


He wandered, tripping on roots and cursing the feeble attempts of his body to keep himself going at speed through the mud, he came across a raised platform adorned with his symbol, his mask. At first, he thought it was something left behind by his followers, but getting closer he found it to be the opposite. A memorial to those who had suffered at his hands.   
  


At that moment, he allowed himself to scream out to the bog around him, animalistic and pained and letting out all the desperate human emotions he was now feeling at the knowledge that he'd lost _everything_ he worked so hard to gain.   
  


Rage subsiding, he collapsed to his knees before the little shrine to his atrocities, and decided that this was all just a cruel joke. Gaea had done this on purpose, to mock him. But he'd show her. He'd found godhood once, and he could do it again. With or without help.

\---

Mishra woke up ass-deep in swamp water, to the desperate cry of some wild animal that startled him from whatever slumber he'd been deep into.   
  


Wet and uncomfortable, he hauled himself to his feet and tried to figure out just what had happened to land himself in a place like this, all tangled roots and bog water instead of endless sands and heat. Last he recalled he'd been dying of some unknown disease, running out of resources and desperate to find any way to defeat his brother. The Brotherhood of Gix had promised him as much, and he'd followed them blindly.   
  


Everything after that was a little fuzzy, but he was sure of one thing. He was supposed to be dead.  


Dazed, he hauled himself to his feet and started the awkward walk towards whatever noise had woken him up, thinking it was better than just waiting around to die again. He didn't know where he was and didn't know how he got there, how much time had passed. If whatever animal was out there though it could kill him, well it had another thing coming. He'd been old and dying before, but now he felt like he could take on anything. He assumed that he'd see as much if he looked in a mirror, or at this reflection in the pools of water at his feet. He felt young, and ready for the world.  
  
His feet took him to the first sign of man's influence in this swampy land, a little shrine of brick and mortar. There was a symbol on it that looked horribly familiar, but he couldn't place how. 

  
There was someone there, too. On his knees before the little memorial was a man, with black hair that shielded his face like a visor and armor that looked war-beaten and out of place. From a distance, it looked like he was praying. This must be a sacred place, or the site of some great tragedy. 

  
Mishra didn't make an effort to conceal his presence, trudging through the water while the stranger made no indication that he knew he was there. A wiser man might have stayed back, been cautious, but Mishra was not one to keep to himself for long. 

  
"I'm sorry to bother, but I don't really know where I am. I was hoping that you might." 

  
Yawgmoth was startled out of his trance by a voice from behind, and turned quickly and defensively to see just who had snuck up on him. Letting out a small gasp, he recognized who it was almost immediately. From the shirt that barely covered enough of anything to be useful, to his dark brown eyes and even darker beard. 

  
Mishra. Urza's wayward little brother, in the flesh. He knew that man as well as he did any other Phyrexian, completely and with certainty. One of the perks of godhood.

  
Composing himself quickly, and settling with the knowledge that he could fight the man off if need be, and answered easily "I'm afraid I'm as lost as you are, but I know the place. This is Urborg." 

  
"Ah." Mishra was disappointed, but less so now that he had someone to talk to. "I don't know how I got here. Do you?" 

  
"Unfortunately no, for both you and myself. I believe I'm supposed to be dead, but I'm not very easy to get rid of." 

  
As cryptic as that sounded, Mishra nodded like he understood anyway, because he kind of did. It meant whatever had happened, happened to both of them the same way. It was a little reassuring, to not be alone. "I'm supposed to be dead too, but I'm not sure why. Your voice sounds familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?" 

  
Yawgmoth weighed his options carefully, knowing just how violent some people might get if he flat out told them the truth. But Mishra had come to Phyrexia willingly, with admiration and longing in his heart. If anyone might be sympathetic to the fallen god, it would be him. And Yawgmoth knew the value of a good, persuasive ally, when all the world might be against you. "You may not know me, but I know you very well, Mishra." He stood straighter, trying to be regal and imposing even if he was soaked and covered in mud. "I am Yawgmoth, God of Phyrexia." 

  
Mishra hadn't expected that, but it made a weird amount of sense. He knew this man's voice, as if he'd heard it though his mind a thousand times. Memories of his time in Phyrexia were blurry, but he remembered the promised cure, the vaguely taught scriptures that seemed imprinted on his mind. Lord Yawgmoth, Father of Machines, all things improved under his eye. Mishra believed him, because he knew his voice. Again, something a wiser man would not have done. 

  
He suddenly felt out of place, not sure if he was supposed to bow or kneel or press his face to the stone in reverence. The god looked so human, so tired and upset, just like him. It didn't seem right, but Mishra wasn't sure what else to do. Yawgmoth seemed to sense his hesitation, and softly reassured him with "I won't hurt you. Remember, I am just as lost and confused as you are. Perhaps we could help each other?" 

  
Nodding again, Mishra felt less awkward in the god's presence, knowing he wanted him there. He hadn't felt fear before, be he realized he probably should have. He felt human enough right now, and a human should be scared of Yawgmoth, but whatever Phyrexian brainwashing still imprinted on his mind told him that he was safe, all would be well under Yawgmoth's guidance. If this was really Yawgmoth. He wanted to believe it was.

  
Even if it wasn't, he was never one to deny the presence of a tall, handsome, seemingly capable stranger when the only other option was to be alone in the wilderness. Mishra wasn't wise, but he wasn't stupid either. Feeling a bit more himself, he responded with an exaggerated bow and "Of course, Lord Yawgmoth. Happy to be of service."

  
That was the exact kind of reaction Yawgmoth was hoping for. The fallen god knew Mishra was mostly joking, but it still conveyed an important piece of information: Mishra was willing to help, even knowing who he was. He had an ally, and a capable one. He rewarded Mishra with a dazzling smile, motioning for them both to get moving and for Mishra to take his place next to him. 

  
Besides, Mishra didn't ask the annoying questions, like 'why does a god need my help' or 'what is a god doing covered in mud and looking like a man' or 'how did you die'. He appreciated a companion that didn't question him, but was still comfortable enough in his presence to be useful.

  
Mishra didn't hesitate to start walking beside him, and together they set out to see just what the world had become in their absence. If the swamp didn't consume them first. 

\---

Others started waking up too, all confused and out of place. First it was Xantcha, found dozing in the arms of her human love, Ratepe, just outside academy grounds. Urza almost had a heart attack seeing Ratepe again, looking so much like Mishra, but Xantcha's presence confirmed his identity, and he was more than happy to see them both again. He'd missed Xantcha dearly, and while Ratepe wasn't Mishra, his presence still eased the sorrow in Urza's heart. 

  
Next, the original crew of the Weatherlight, Gerrard, Hanna, Sisay, Orim, Tahngarth, and Mirri, all woke in a pile somewhere on the outskirts of Urborg and all arrived at Tolaria West within a few days of outrunning the Cabal and praying to Gaea for guidance. 

  
Gerrard was beside himself, having Hanna back in his arms again, alive and _not Yawgmoth_ this time. Her parents, Barrin and Rayne, were just as happy to see her then they were found a few days later in Urza's office, seemingly dropped there by the heavens. The academy was practically overflowing with old faces now, and plenty of people were overjoyed to see them all again. Even Urza, who didn't care much for people. 

  
He cared a lot more about seeing Xantcha again, and focused on catching up with her until his old apprentice was found wandering around Benalia was a disgruntled Ashnod in tow. Tawnos was young again, as was she, and Urza couldn't begin to describe how good it was to see him again. (Even if it was bittersweet. Why would the universe bring back nearly everyone he knew except the one person he was desperate to see again?) 

  
Settling everyone in took time, finding rooms and having reunions and celebrating as much as possible for whatever miracle had brought them all together again, but it was all done with the silent question of _why_ looming over all of their heads, and no one really wanted to find out. 

  
Urza was alone, off to the side of the happy throng and trying to smile at anyone who met his eyes, thinking of that very question. It didn't make sense for them all to just be _alive_ again. Urza had his spark and Xantcha had her heartstone and yet Karn was still functioning, alive and 'walking like nothing happened, because nothing did happen to him. It made no sense. What force in the multiverse could do such a thing? 

  
Xantcha knew Urza better than anyone else there, no matter what any of them cared to believe. She knew when he was lost in thought, and she knew how dangerous it could be. Wordlessly, she dragged herself and Ratepe over to Urza's side, handing him a goblet of whatever kind of alcohol the future had invented in her absence and not taking no for an answer. 

  
Urza took it gratefully, but did not drink. It was more that he needed something in his hands, something heavy and grounding. Xantcha understood that. "You think too loudly. I could hear it across the room." She said from his side, staring out at the happy crowd. 

  
"I know. I am happy to see everyone, of course. Even if they are less pleased to see me." 

  
Xantcha snorted a little at that. Gerrard had tried to knock his lights out when he first got back. So did Barrin. It was quite entertaining. "Well, _I_ am happy to see you again. And they have all calmed down significantly. No reason for you not to join them, now." 

  
"There's no time for celebration. There has to be a reason this happened, why we've all-" 

  
"Of course there is. But can't it wait one more day?" Xantcha interrupted, knowing exactly where he was going with that. "If there's some ancient evil we need to fight, it can wait for one day. We defeated the ineffable once, we can do it again. Better, this time." 

  
"But what if it's not Yawgmoth?" Urza insisted fervently, "What if it's something _worse?"_

  
She placed her hand softly on Urza's shoulder. They'd all been thinking the same thing, but no one cared to say it. "Then we can have just one night of peace, then we'll deal with whatever else is coming." She knew what he would say next, and added. "If you'd rather go try to solve it now, I'll go with you. Rat, too. You shouldn't be alone on a night like this." 

  
Urza really would have liked that, but he wouldn't deny them their celebration. Especially after the defeated and pathetic look Ratepe gave his lover at the mention of working on what might be their one day off. "No. You're right. Let us enjoy the time we have." 

  
There was one more thing on his mind, one that he wouldn't dare say aloud. He wasn't happy to see everyone again, not as happy as he should have been. Because he was terrified of the having to watch them all die again. He couldn't handle it, couldn't handle _thinking_ about it. He considered them friends, even family, though he didn't show it well enough. He wasn't good with people, didn't try to be.

  
Perhaps it was a good thing Mishra had not been brought back with everyone else. That was one death he'd already relived too many times to count. 

  
Xantcha was satisfied, but didn't move. She didn't know these people, anyway. Urza was the one true friend she had there, as sad as that sounded.

  
Tawnos finally pulled himself away from questioning historians and curious students, still dragging Ashnod along as he took a seat near his former master and friend. It seemed so comfortable, so natural even after all this time, even with his brother's former apprentice whispering things to Tawnos that made the man turn an amusing shade of red. Urza wasn't used to that, but found comfort in it nonetheless. These people knew him, didn't make him talk or move and pretend to dance. They let him sit in peace, but not alone. 

  
In comfortable silence, they all sipped on their drinks and contemplated the future, hoping that this was just some kind miracle and not the last ditch effort of the multiverse to save itself from destruction.

  
Which, it probably was. But they didn't have to think about that until tomorrow. 


End file.
